


lord have mercy on me

by surrenderer



Category: Bandom, Empires
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderer/pseuds/surrenderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I have to write really early in the morning -- stay up through the night or wake up right away. Maybe there's a darkness there that still hovers around after sleep or something like that, but I really don't know. Because outside of music, I don't really consider myself a dark person. Somewhere in the music, I guess that's born, and I still haven't figured it out."</i> - Sean Van Vleet for Spinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lord have mercy on me

**Author's Note:**

> I know that some of the quoted lyrics aren't what's in the lyric booklet included in Garage Hymns, but I decided to work off of the GH Owner's Manual, which is a booklet included in one of the GH pre-order packages, and contains scans of Sean's notebook where he wrote the drafts of the songs.
> 
> I don't know how to feel about this fic, only that I needed to get it out and posted somewhere. So here you have it.

Sean doesn’t consider himself a dark person, but his writing… his writing is a different story. Words pour out of him in the darkness right before dawn, when a bottle of whiskey next to him is his best friend, and when he tries to make sense of them in the late afternoon, out of the scribbles rise something dark and depressing, but ever so fitting.

He writes, and he writes, and he scratches words out, bites his pen cap until it’s chewed up and disgusting, but it just never stops. His brain never shuts up and it’s hard to even think a single thought that isn’t troubled in those quiet hours, when it’s just him and his notebook, the blank pages staring at him like a challenge.

The apartment is quiet except for the rustling of the wind; a dog barks in the distance, but Sean barely hears it. He’s focused tonight, whiskey next to him like always, and the words are obeying him for once. The chorus, though, the chorus is like a stubborn child that has to be coaxed and threatened and even then, it balks. Nothing Sean writes comes out the way he wants it to. He tries everything, but nothing fits.

He sighs, putting his pen down for a moment. He’s sitting in the living room, a single lamp on; alcohol’s in front of him… what is there that can really save him from this darkness? He isn’t consumed by it, but everything he’s been writing recently sounds more tortured, troubled, and it’s even starting to concern the band. Max and Ryan have asked him multiple times if everything is okay, and Tom… well, Tom wakes up every night to check on him, make sure that he’s not consumed by his own thoughts until he can’t function.

_I think I see things some other way_

Sean reads over what he has, over and over again, and it’s good, he knows that Max and Ryan and Tom will all like it when he presents it to them, it just feels like something’s _missing_.

_I think I marched as an angel into the devil’s cave_

The words are taunting Sean. He only needs one more piece of the puzzle, and he’s done, but it feels like he’s grasping for that last piece under the couch and he just can’t reach it.

_starin down at society_

He taps his pen against his teeth, frowning. He has verses, he has something of a structure, but he just can’t get the chorus right. It’s a one-liner, he knows it, he even left space between the verses for it, but he just can’t find the right words, the right sentiment.

_piss in its grave_

It’s starting to drive him a little crazy, all this thinking back and forth. He veers between the extremes, between knowing that this song might be what the album needs and thinking that it’s one of the worst that he’s written. He knows that by the time it makes it to the album, this song will probably be different from whatever the demo is going to sound like, but his need for perfection sometimes drives him a little insane and he hates it when he goes into recording with the song still rough around the edges.

Sean doesn’t know how long he sits on the couch, staring hopelessly, but by the time Tom pads into the living room, there are streaks of light coming in from the blinds and Sean’s eyes are blurring from exhaustion.

“Jesus, Van Vleet. How long have you been out here?” Tom gives him a concerned look, which Sean tries to ignore.

“All night?” he ventures, wincing at how his voice cracks from lack of use. Even the whiskey hasn’t been helping.

“Christ.” Tom goes up to him, brushes his fingers through his hair, and Sean leans into the touch. “You need to _sleep,_ Sean. Stop doing this to yourself.”

Sean can’t, though. He can’t because this is when his best words come out, when those demons that haunt him all make their appearance and give his songs the fire and passion they need. So what if he’s drunk while writing sometimes? The songs, they’re good. He knows they are, or else the band wouldn’t use them. He just needs the darkness and the silence to get his thoughts out right.

“It’s not coming out,” he says weakly after a moment, shaking his head. “I have everything else, it’s just this one line and it’s eating at me. It’s there, I know it. I just _can’t_ \--“

Tom shushes him, taking a seat on the arm of the couch and gently pulling Sean close. “It’s okay. It’s okay, you don’t need to have this perfect right away. Why don’t you go sleep on it? Maybe you’ll find the right words.”

Every part of Sean resists the idea of sleeping, of _abandoning_ his song and his line, but he’s so tired and Tom’s voice is like a lure, a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a soft bed and warm blankets and comforting arms around him. Still, he shakes his head against Tom’s ribs, trying his best to fight back the exhaustion. “No. No, I have to finish this, it’ll get away if I don’t and I don’t want it to.” Maybe he’s pouting a little too, but Tom can’t see his face, so it’s okay.

He feels Tom’s hands brush through his hair again, and then there’s a soft kiss on the top of his head. “But you need sleep, babe. Come on. Just a couple hours. You can’t pull these all-nighters without going crazy, I know you.” Sean gets tugged to his feet, but he makes a grab for his notebook and pen and clutches them both close as Tom guides him into the bedroom. Maybe something will come to him when he’s laying there, unable to sleep.

Except Tom gets him in bed, tucked in like a small child, and before Tom can even kiss him goodnight, Sean is asleep.

_I wanna love somebody in a selfless way_

His dreams are odd; maybe it’s because of the whiskey, but Sean finds himself tossed from location to location. A bar, a restaurant, a park. Friends make appearances: Ryan is there at one point with Nick, and then Max and Louis and Tom. The last one, Tom silently leads him to a church in the middle of Grant Park, and Sean knows that he’s supposed to go in alone.

The church is empty; no pastor, no father, no rabbi. Sean sits down in a front pew, and he does what he hasn’t done in his waking hours in years. He prays. For what, he doesn’t know. His own salvation. Tom’s. The band’s. His family’s. But in the midst of an alcohol-infused writing spree, he needs something to guide him, whether it be the morning light, a divine spirit, or Tom’s gentle touch on his arm. Light shines in through the stained glass until Sean realizes that there’s nothing in front of him anymore. He’s not inside a church anymore. He’s kneeling on the grass outside, and he breathes in deep. His heart pounds, and he knows he’s still alive.

_I wanna suck out the venom coursing my veins  
I wanna do something nice so I ain’t ashamed  
When I stand like a prisoner outside of heaven’s gate  
I wanna get some pity for my actions made_

When Sean wakes up, he feels like he hasn’t slept at all. He’s not comforted in the slightest, but he now knows what he’s meant to write. He reaches for his notebook, looking over at Tom, who is fast asleep next to him. This won’t take long, and then he can cuddle up to Tom again and hold him close, tell him not to worry.

He bites his pen cap before scribbling out the line he’s been missing all along in the empty spaces he left.

_lord have mercy_


End file.
